


written in the water

by Ejunkiet



Series: what do you want (from a devil like me) [2]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: A love letter to the first half of season two, Bathroom Sex, Canon Compliant to a Point, Episode: s02e04 Pick Your Poison, F/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Season/Series 02, They make a habit of meeting in bars, back to unresolved sexual tension, namely one bar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-03-05 23:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: “I'm not staying,” she clarifies - although if it's more for herself or him, she can't say - and reaches into her purse, placing the key on the counter between them.He doesn't respond immediately. He leans back in his chair, his eyes still on hers, dark and considering and she wonders what he’s thinking when he looks at her like that, what he sees.He doesn't take the key."Seem to remember addressing that to you.”--They make a habit of meeting in bars.





	1. PART ONE: BAD HABITS

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to the wonderful garglyswoof and devil_bunny_wolf for checking this over and helping me tie up loose ends.

The text comes through early on a Tuesday morning before the school rush, just when she's making a start on the preparations for the day. She doesn't have time to check it until late morning, when the kids are dressed and ready, and she's placed the keys for the minivan in Dean's hands so he can drop them off on the way to the showroom.

BOILER ROOM. 10AM. MEET AT THE BAR.

The message is brief and unsigned, but he doesn’t have to leave his name for her to know who it is.

Rio has her number. She doesn't remember giving it to him, but after all the places he's turned up, it doesn't surprise her - he'd made a point of knowing her, and for better or for worse, he does.

She saves the contact under ‘Book Club’ and looks up the address on her phone.

\--

The Boiler Room is located in the heart of the newly rebuilt town center, a place that Beth has only been once or twice in the last few years. It’s stylish, the kind of place that’s popular among college students and young professionals: an offshoot from the city that will last a month, maybe two, before folding, unable to sustain itself in the wilderness of suburbia.

Rio's waiting for her at the bar, a smile on his lips, and it's clear he's a regular here, the bartender handing him a drink - tequila, neat - without a second glance. He's wearing a dress shirt in a dark shade of red, a cleaner cut than she’s used to, and it emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders, the leanness of him.

“You're a boss now.”

He's different here, more relaxed - pleased, she realises, as he swivels on his stool to face her, eyes and teeth gleaming in the late morning light - and the idea that killing a man earns his approval settles oddly in her chest, heavy and obtrusive.

It's a feeling she can't fully define, even as her head tells her what it should be - disgust; horror, even, at what she's done, what she's planning to do. It should be but it isn't, not entirely.

She's still thinking about it when he gestures towards the bar, his eyes trailing over her and lingering for a moment on the floral pattern of her shirt before flicking back up to meet her gaze.

"So, what's your poison?”

“It’s ten o'clock in the morning.” She doesn't bother to keep the reproach from her voice and he grins at her tone, shifting to make room as she slides her purse onto the bar top.

“It's happy hour somewhere, baby.” He watches her for a long moment, his eyes gleaming, before he turns to face her fully, resting his chin on his open palm. “What are we thinking, _a_ _crisp Chardonnay?_ ”

“I'm not staying,” she clarifies - although if it's more for herself or him, she can't say - and reaches into her purse, placing the key on the counter between them.

He doesn't respond immediately, leaning back in his chair. His eyes are still on hers, dark and unwavering, and she wonders what he’s thinking when he looks at her like that, what he sees. He doesn't take the key.

“Seem to remember addressing that to you.”

It's quiet at this time of day, and they're the only customers at the bar, with only a few tables occupied at the back by staff taking a break, checking their phones. She looks at him, hard, trying to see past the veneer he wears, guess at what he’s thinking. “Why?”

He shrugs, loose and easy, and leans back on the bar stool. “I'm out. Flipping my game. It's time to move on.”

She shakes her head, fiddling with the straps on her purse. “That's not what I meant. Why me?”

He doesn't answer right away, tilting the rest of his drink back, throat exposed as he swallows before he drops the glass back to the bar top with a soft thump. Leaning his head to the side, he levels her with another assessing look, drumming his fingers against the wood, considering.

The smile is back on his lips when he says, "You really wanna know?”

She nods, and he leans across the bar top, closing the distance between them. He gives her another once over and licks his lips, and she can feel something settle in her stomach, hot and heavy.

“I think you could be something.”

It's not the truth, or at least, not the whole truth, and yet she can’t control the way she reacts to it, the heat that blossoms in her cheeks. She lets out a scoff, pushing away from the bar top.

“You don't know me.”

"Yeah?" His eyes are dark and glitter in the half-light of the bar, tracking her movements as she prepares to leave. He waits until he has her full attention before he finishes, “I think I do."

His eyes linger on her as he says it, tracing her silhouette, before he signals to the bartender again, tilting his head back over his shoulder.

“Bourbon. On the rocks.”

His eyes don't leave hers as he says it, gleaming in the low light, and for a moment, she thinks about it. The idea of it. Her eyes trace across his features before dropping to his throat and the bird of prey that perches there, and when her eyes meet his again, they’re burning with an intensity that takes her breath away.

He's attractive - she'd be lying if she said she hadn't noticed - and he knows it. Her heartbeat is a heavy pulse in her throat as he licks his lips, holding her gaze. He shifts on the bar stool and comes in that little bit closer, his eyes holding a challenge, a dare, and she finds herself swaying towards him without even meaning to, catching herself against the bar top.

A clatter behind the bar breaks the moment and she turns away, taking a breath, before she takes a step towards the exit.

His voice is soft as he calls after her, “The kingdom is in your name.”

She doesn't look back.

\--

The kingdom is five feet deep and contains more fake cash than she - or anyone she knew - could make in a lifetime. More than she can count. More than she could ever need. 

She doesn't need it.

She doesn’t need it until she does.


	2. PART TWO: BABY DID A BAD THING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They're face-to-face then, his eyes steady on hers, pupils swallowing his irises as they breathe each other's air. His thumb traces the curve of her jaw, holding her gaze, but he doesn't lean in to close the distance between them._
> 
> _He's breathing heavily as he looks at her, and there’s an unspoken question there, 'this what you want?'_

It's not been two weeks before she finds herself back at the storage unit, replacement key in hand, a duffel bag of supplies at her feet. The cash is still there and she’s almost surprised - she hadn’t been sure it would be, not after she’d turned down his offer.

But it’s there, and it’s hers: the paperwork she’d picked up from the office had confirmed it.

All of it.

She tries to count it, sorting the cash into bundles of ten, neatly wrapped up in red rubber bands, but it takes more than an hour to get through a small fraction of one of the stacks, and she realises - she can’t do this alone. 

She texts the location to Ruby and then, after a moment of hesitation, she forwards the message to Annie as well. 

She won’t hear the end of it, but they’re in this together; have been since the beginning.

\--

Weeks later, when she returns to the Boiler Room, it’s because she’s making a choice.

It's busy for a Wednesday night, the main floor and the walkways up to the bar crowded with bodies, and it's by luck that they secure a table, a small high top that places them within easy distance of the bar.

She doesn’t know what she expected to find here (or maybe, she doesn’t want to know), but she's one, two, maybe three bourbons deep, and she doesn't  _ care _ . She doesn't care that Dean is there with her, doesn't care that this place is filled with young faces and she's twenty years older than most of the girls in the bar.

_ "We each have our own super power, okay?" _

The burn of the bourbon soothes some of the anger that's settling in her gut, but not all of it. 

She flags down a server and orders herself another drink.

It's not long after that she finds him at the bar, his dark eyes tracking her from across the room. He’s watching her, a drink of his own in his hand, and he’s alone, posture open and relaxed. 

He’s not looking at anyone but her.

She holds his gaze for a long moment, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers, and she's not thinking about it, not really, as she watches him, following the way he tilts his drink back, his eyes steady on hers - until she is.

She lets the moment stretch, and then she gets to her feet.

“I’ll be right back.” She doesn’t wait for Dean’s reply as she collects her purse, weaving through the crowd towards the back. The bathrooms are located by the fire exit, and she picks the one furthest from the bar, snapping the door shut behind her. 

She doesn’t stop to check that he’s followed (doesn't want to look back), but it’s not ten seconds before the bathroom door opens again, and he enters, eyes on hers as he leans back against the door.

She drops her purse by the sink, takes a breath, and turns to face him.

They don’t speak as she makes her approach. She’s close enough that he can smell the whiskey on her breath, can track the flicker of her gaze to his mouth - but still, he doesn't say anything.

Even here, he holds himself at a remove; waits for her to make the call.

Her heart sits heavily in her throat as she reaches past him, the weight of his eyes on her, and she doesn't miss the way he sways into her space as she flips the lock.

He exhales then and she catches the flicker of his smile, the glimmer of his teeth, before she turns and makes her way back to the sink. She feels hot, her pulse thrumming in her throat as she lowers her gaze and hikes up her dress to her waist. An invitation.

The pass of his palms across her skin is electrifying, the heat of his mouth against her throat, biting at the back of her neck before he's tugging at her underwear, snapping the fabric. 

She helps him push them down before he slides a hand up her back, pressing her forward into the sink as the other slips up her thigh.

He lets out a muted sound as his hand reaches her center and finds her ready for him, fingers moving easily, circling, pressing into her as her breath catches and slips, before he pulls back and drops to his knees, using his mouth there instead.

Her hands clutch at the sides of the sink, her knees almost buckling under the force of it, as  _ holy shit _ .

He slides his fingers into her as she whimpers, turning his face to mouth at her inner thigh, stubble rough against her skin as he hushes her. Pressing a kiss there, he curls his fingers, moving in, out as she gasps beneath him, until -

He pulls away.

She hears the sound of his zipper, the rustle of clothing before he rises back to his feet, his hands on her hips, pulling her to him. He's burning against her, hot and hard and she pushes back against him, earning a hiss before he flips her, pressing her into the wall beside the sink.

They're face-to-face then, his eyes steady on hers, pupils swallowing his irises as they breathe each other's air. His thumb traces the curve of her jaw, holding her gaze, but he doesn't lean in to close the distance between them.

He's breathing heavily as he looks at her, and there’s an unspoken question there, 'this what you want?'

She takes him in hand, biting her lip at the way he shudders and mutters a curse, eyes narrowed as he thrusts lightly into her grip, before he's pushing her back against the wall, using his hand under her knee to hike her up as the other seeks out her waist. She helps him, reaching between them to align them, and he buries himself within her with a sigh.

His mouth finds her throat again, marking a burning path to her jaw as he sets a rolling, steady rhythm, thumb circling at the centre of her. He's ruthless, setting a pace that aims to take her apart, and it's not long before she comes with a quiet sob, nails biting sharp crescents into his shoulder blades. He follows shortly after with a soft groan, burying his face into her hair.

They take a moment to collect themselves, the sound of their harsh breathing loud over the muffled thump of the bass in the main room, before he unhooks his arm from beneath her thigh, lowering her to the floor. He grabs a handful of paper towel from the roller and reaches out to smooth down her hair, tucking the errant strands back into place before he steps back, giving her space.

She takes the towel from him, turning to face the mirror as she tidies herself up, straightening her dress, wiping away the slick heat from between her thighs. She doesn’t bother looking for her underwear; she’d heard the snap of the elastic, had kicked them away with no intentions of looking for them again, and it’s not long until she’s presentable. Almost.

There’s a mark on her collarbone, just peeking through the neckline of her dress, and his eyes linger on it as he watches her in the mirror. He’d meant to leave it, she realises, tugging at her collar, watching as his lips twitch as she smooths it back into place.

They look at each other for a moment, the silence between them punctuated by the muted thump of music behind them. They haven't said anything to each other since they entered the bathroom, but it’s not as if she has anything to say. 

This is- not a mistake, exactly, but not a recurrent event. It won't happen again.

She picks up her purse, walking past him; she can feel the weight of his gaze on her as she unlocks the door, burning on her back as she exits the restroom and walks down the hall.

He doesn’t return to the bar.

\--

The next morning, there are fingerprint bruises on her skin, marks from his mouth on the inside of her thighs, and she picks up two canisters of gas and a firelighter before making her way to the storage unit.

The money is gone. A bottle of Bourbon sits there instead, and it’s an apology, she thinks, or maybe a taunt.

She doesn't expect to see him that night.

There's a dangerous smile on his face when he comes by the dealership and says, “you haven't told him yet?” His eyes are glittering with a dark, chaotic energy, and her heart skips a beat within her chest at the same time the blood drains from her face as she realises what he intends to do.

_ "Don't." _

He bites his lips, and thinks about it, and Dean - Dean  _ knows _ , he must, even as he asks, "tell me  _ what?" _

Rio glances at her husband and smiles. Her heart sits, thick and heavy, in her throat, and she tries to understand the meaning of all this, what he’s trying to do. He has his money, this can’t be about what happened in the bar, it  _ can’t _ -

_ “Please.” _

His eyes return to hers, settling there for a long moment, and she thinks she sees something in his expression soften.

He looks back to her husband, and it's gone. "We're partners now.”

He makes a new deal, and when she doesn't agree to it right away, he smashes the yellow corvette with a crowbar, shards of glass scattering across the showroom like stars. He's turned to make a start on the next one when she breaks, stepping forward - 

"I will give you whatever you want,  _ just stop!" _

He looks at her then, and she realises he's enjoying this, lips twisting as he glances her over, and there was never going to be a negotiation.

He takes the crowbar with him when he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments, and find me on [tumblr](http://ejunkiet.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr (ejunkiet)!


End file.
